


Yellow Dandelion

by Eicinic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (negative spaces), Healing, Longing, M/M, growth and joy, yellow: communication clarity intelligence vibrancy radiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 00:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5561110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eicinic/pseuds/Eicinic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Kenma wasn’t really good with words, so he made love to Koutarou all and each one of those nights they were together, muffling the words in the corners of his skin and the folds of his bones.<br/>If there was a beginning and an end to the universe, Kenma found them in all of the impossible lived eternities in Koutarou’s bed.]</p><p><i>Kenma</i> Koutarou whispered, just once, too quiet<br/>maybe he just imagined it<br/>then</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Would you blow a wish if I bring you a dandelion?</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>[what would it be?]</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Yellow Dandelion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [readhanded (0n0da)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=readhanded+%280n0da%29).



**I.**

Kenma smiled back, only a little, covering his mouth with his fingers as if he was trying to keep a secret from being heard, lurching his shoulders forwards almost unnoticeable, slowly looking up to Koutarou and Kotarou, whose big warm childish soul could only think magic should be the only thing in this world that needs to be kept. [ _Magic_ was what happened to his insides when Kenma lowered his hand and composed his expression but his eyes smiled for the rest of the night].

He saw Kenma after ten years at the train station, quite long dark brown hair shielding his face from judgmental gazes, sharp pupils focused on the book he was holding carefully, the curve of his neck exposed under the strands. All in all, he was everything Koutarou remembered, yet so different. His features didn’t look older but the weight on his shoulders did.

“Kenma”

He said it for himself, almost surprised, barely audible, however Kenma looked up slightly confused and searched around until his eyes met Koutarou’s.

The train entered in the station, the floor vibrated, Koutarou’s bones followed right after, the afternoon sun held seconds, minutes, the two of them looking at each other, immobile.

“Coffee? My treat”

It was easier than expected, yet more difficult than ever. Kenma barely spoke despite Koutarou’s attempts to drag the words out of him, so, instead, he just filled the silence with anecdotes, until the very precise moment he described the worst hangover in his whole life and the other tried to muffle a laugh in the neck of his jacket.

And the tension disappeared.

Koutarou lit up and competed with the absent sun the rest of the coffee and the following ice cream, the short walk down the empty streets, 1 am, 2 am, I’ll walk you home, it won’t be necessary, an awkward silence, an it has been nice, thank you for the coffee and the ice cream. It kind of seemed like the old times. (The unspoken _maybe we can be like that again.)_

 

 

**II.**

There was a brief shadow in Kenma’s eyes and with this, the sun was gone.

“I’ve made choices. I am not a good person”.

“Neither am I. Some things are good being bad. That’s what Tetsu used to say to pull me out of my moods.”

A silence.

“I do.”

“Do what?”

“Miss him”

Koutaoru tilted his head to look properly at him, making the brunette feel suddenly very conscious and hyperaware of himself, just like it used to be before: Koutarou’s intensity always overwhelming him. Some things, apparently, don't change

“and some things do. Maybe what happened was for the best? Maybe our future us will be good enough different enough to cross paths with Kuroo again”.

Kenma stopped biting his fingers to glance at him. He had those intense yellow dandelion eyes of endlessly hopes, the same expression he had once when they were fifteen and Akaashi said he’d like to know the exact amount of planets in our galaxy, and Koutarou had written all over his features believe in me and I will cross it side to side to tell you.

Kenma breathed faintly. He was staring at him the same way as back then. Believe in me and I will make our future happen.

And Kenma did.

 

 **III**.

Some things just happen. You wake up one morning and realize you need a change. Maybe the curtains have to be green instead of brown. Maybe the coffee tastes sweeter than usual. You get earlier to work than your co-worker, the sky is more blue than ever, a kid yells in the streets, the constant roaming of the cars, it’s always the same but it’s also different this day.

Koutarou coming in as if he’s used to the furniture like he has walked this floor multiple times though this is the first time he’s here; the low, vibrant glow in his eyes promising home, slowly and patiently reaching out to Kenma’s face and shaping his hands there as if this was the only reason of his existence, the following kiss, natural and surprising because some things

just happen

Kenma doesn’t really know what led them to lie down on the iced, rough floor of his apartment, how he decided to expose himself for Koutarou, tugging at the hem of his boxers sliding them down his skinny legs, doesn’t remember a past where his winter skin wasn’t being devoured by Koutarou’s bright eyes, all of him melting under the sun, flowing to connect his body with him as if the ocean was his end, but also his beginning.

Wasn’t that the hope in Koutarou’s kisses anyway? The tentative and wet whisper against Kenma’s body,

_let’s start again_

The immensity is scary, Kenma thinks, arching his back, pressing his body closer, moaning shaky breathy and needy, he can’t really pretend the skyline of their bodies together is not the same as the sky and the ocean staring into each other

and, maybe,

it was okay. As different as they are, building in that exact moment a life where they can be. Where Koutarou thrusts hard in him and his whole self is already used to all the corners of Kenma; fucking him as thoughtless as breathing is.

Kenma opens his mouth, reaches his orgasm, holds him close, leads him to his ending and thinks he doesn’t need Koutarou to tell him the exact amount of planets in the universe

He’s already seeing all of them

Maybe the immensity is not as scary

Koutarou whispers in his ear how much he needed this and with that, both are gone. (Kenma doesn’t know too much about the reasons of existence, but he doesn’t mind it. Some things, apparently,

just happen).

 

**IV.**

There’s something different as to how he could have imagined their coexistence together. Koutaoru doesn’t respect his boundaries as much as promised, but that’s _fine._ Kenma surprised himself one day when he woke up locked in a tight embrace in one of the _very bad_ weeks and he didn’t mind it at all.

He discovered back then feeling safe wasn’t bound to being _alone._ It was better not to if that meant Koutarou was by his side.

_He always was._

That was something Kenma was quite late in understanding, exactly 453 days after they met for the first time in eleven years. But at the end he realized, coming back to their shared apartment and Koutarou being already there, smiling up at him with his eyes, mouth _and body_ while setting the table for dinner. _You look like shit,_ he greeted, and was mostly followed by a short laugh, a tug of his hair and a rough meeting of lips.

He was hungry, Kenma decided then, but for different reasons than dinner.

Living with him wasn’t as easy as living with Kuroo as it was back then. It was more a thing of Kenma shaping them together, getting used to Koutarou’s antics, understanding him, allowing him to push the boundaries insistently, to yield, often, so often that at some point it wasn’t yielding anymore, since making Koutarou happy started to be as easy, natural and needed as existing.

_Breathing._

Sometimes he lay in bed on those gray Monday mornings where none of them worked, contemplated every inch of Koutarou’s skin exposed to the white cold light, listened to his heavy breathing, scooted closer to his warmth and thought of all the meanings that have changed in his life since he was there with him.

 _Breathing_ meant a different thing now that Kenma came back home and was received by a full body smile and eyes that held the sun. _Just like when they were sixteen and hung out on summer afternoons and Koutarou asked after ten minutes of melted ice cream if he could eat the rest of Kenma’s watermelon popsicle._

Koutarou was a little bit like this, summer afternoons when they were sixteen and all of them were still together.

 _We are the remainings,_ he whispered to Koutarou’s exposed skin one of those mornings, resting his lips on the back of his neck and following the range of his spine until the lowest part of his back, nuzzling against the warmth and hoping for this to last

_forever_

_I love you_ , he felt,

(but never said)

Maybe it wasn’t so necessary after all, Koutarou seemed to understand those feelings Kenma found confusing and undetermined better than him.

 _Kenma_ Koutarou called after two minutes of breathing his skin _get back to sleep it’s not even 6 am_

 _It’s 10 am_ he corrected, slightly amused and with the certainty that it was, indeed, _10 am._ The same certainty he discovered having about his life with Koutarou. This is where he belongs; he belongs with Koutarou any day anywhere.

He belongs with him more than ever when Koutarou hovers over Kenma’s skinny body, covers him, shields him, embraces his arms, locks their fingers together and fucks him from behind, slow and steady. Kenma is buried in the mattress, is being filled, is resting his head on Koutarou’s shoulder pressed against the back of his neck as he’s feeling the drumming of his always young heart directly against his shoulder blades. Koutarou is _everywhere,_ closing the embrace of his arms tighter, so tight Kenma doesn’t have space to move but he doesn’t need to, _he wouldn’t be anywhere but here,_ Koutarou pants hard in his neck, not worrying anymore if his weight is too much for Kenma, if their elbows hurt from the friction against the blankets, if the insistent rub of the younger’s length against the mattress is too much to bear with.

 _I miss you,_ he whispers then in Kenma’s neck, when he’s climbing the high and forcing himself to keep the steady rhythm of his thrusts, _I wouldn’t wake up everyday if it wasn’t for you you are the love of my life I don’t want to go away I don’t want this_ to end

and then, even lower, _Kenma_

but never continued _let’s live forever_

 

 

**V.**

The day they meet Akaashi after fifteen years for Kenma and fourteen for Koutarou is, absolutely, not as expected (though, yet again, were they expecting it at all?) Time only gives you the reassurance the things that wished to happen but didn’t were, probably, right. _It’s not disappointment,_ Kenma tells Koutarou later, linking their fingers together and holding tight, _it’s defeat. We resigned to things we thought we couldn’t change and accepted them. Now it feels shitty to know a lot could have been different if we made it better. We didn’t. And it’s all right._

_It’s all right, Kou._

but Koutarou doesn’t listen to him. He’s hurt, he’s hurt Akaashi didn’t recognize him, he’s hurt he didn’t recognize Akaashi.

Kenma did, though, because Akaashi was different but the way he walked was the same as back then.

_Keiji?_

Bokuto froze by his side and followed his gaze searching in the crowd for a face he didn’t identify. The beanie that he was trying to try on Kenma was forgotten between his dopey fingers once he _understood_ he didn’t know who Akaashi was anymore.

“Kozume-san?”

The guy standing in front of them was exactly the same, yet, different enough. His eyes talked about his age more than what his features did. He beamed at the same time as Kenma nodded quietly.

“How long has it been? Ten years? Eleven?”

 _Fourteen,_ Kenma felt Koutarou’s non-verbal response by his side

 _“_ How are you? Would you like to go for a coffee together? I’d like to ask you about Bokuto-san and Kuroo-san I lost contact with them when I moved to college…”

Koutarou didn’t say anything. He wasn’t breathing, either. Kenma alternated his gaze briefly between one and other until Akaashi followed his eyes and smiled at Koutarou in the same way he would smile to a stranger.

“I apologize for my rudeness, I didn’t notice Kozume-san was accompanied” he extended his hand then “I’m Akaashi Keiji, and old acquaintance”

Kenma reached out to him before the other could, touching the lowest part of his straight, broad back and whispering _Koutarou_

implying _I’m here_

but as the major part of the things in Kenma’s life those words remained unsaid

(but understood)

Koutarou blinked at him, slowly, those eyes weren’t talking about hope were talking about _hurt_ and Kenma _felt_ physically sick.

“Bokuto-san?”

“H-hey hey Akaashi!” He forced after ten seconds and an ugly laughter. “I’m sorry we can’t really go for coffee now, I’m late to work! Why don’t we exchange numbers and see if we can hang out another day?”

He said it as if he was _believing_ his own words

[but it was a lie]

He was scratching the fingers in his left hand sign that he was lying, and it’s been _fourteen years but that hasn’t changed_ Akaashi’s gaze lingered in the gesture more than necessary then looked at Kenma and _he knew_

_it hurt_

 

Koutarou always looked at him like he was looking directly at the sun, willing to burn for seeing something beautiful for a few seconds. After the first year, Kenma got used to it. He wasn’t the one who kept wonders inside, anyway. It wasn’t until the twentieth time that he was the one undressing Koutarou, kissing him, soothing him, trying to convey by the touch of his fingers that he was there, too, and he wanted _to stay._ Kenma has always been good at finding reasons to stay.

_(He’s afraid of change, anyway)_

That’s how he discovered the scars of Koutarou’s wounds kept bleeding through the years. He lived like this, open. Exposed.

He couldn’t avoid setting parallelisms with Kuroo, back then (he missed him more than what he was willing to recognize). Both lived in the same way, after all, both of them walking in crossed-fire and promising they’d survive. _Liars._

Liars             _that’s how you die, not how you live._

Then, when Koutarou kissed under his right ear and whispered the first _I love you_ he understood

maybe living for dying is not so bad if dying means _this_

_though koutarou has always been the naïvest one_

 

“Kuroo never believed in people in the same way you do” he explained, patiently, massaging Koutaoru’s knuckles as he was breathing in Kenma’s hair, kissing it here and there, his breathing heavy and raspy. “He never _trusted_ at first sight. You just give them your whole heart without asking first. That’s why it hurts so much”

Kenma swallowed an it would hurt any other way because that’s how life is, _it leaves you with wounds_ and kissed the scars instead, slowly and steady, the only way he knew to do things: with the familiarity of having done them one million times before.

 

**VI.**

They never saw Akaashi again.

_(though, sometimes, Kenma messaged him and got a reply back._

_until it stopped._

_just as everything else did)._

 

**VII.**

Kenma remembers it well. Remembers the warmth and firmness of Koutarou’s arm against his side, the loud music of the adjacent rooms, Kuroo’s promise _just five minutes Kenma_ still heavy in his chest. He can’t really complain since it’s his problem for having anxiety. But he doesn’t want to be alone.

He never wants to be alone, at the end. (It’s selfish, _isn’t it?_ You can’t force someone to stay with the excuse _of feeling sick of people._ It’s a contradiction).

But Koutarou appeared in the same room and after closing the door quietly he joined him under the desk. Kenma didn’t say anything. They never talked alone before have they? He wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t nervous, either. Everyone needs a place to run to when the world is too loud and spins too fast. He didn’t know when the change from somewhere to run to, to someone to run to happened. Maybe it came like most of the big realizations of his life: waking up to Koutarou sleeping by his side.

“I know that game. I saw it yesterday on youtube. There’s a youtuber that talks about videogames, I like them.”

“Z00macaron?”

“Yea. You got this game today?” Kenma hummed in response, eyes focused on the screen, slowly giving in to Koutarou’s gravity and warmth presence. The room was quiet despite the muffled burst of the stereo in the living room, where the party was reaching its highest point.

He realized then, in that very first moment shared with him, how much he liked Koutarou’s heavy breathing. He breathed with his whole body, as he laughed, cried or smiled and that was _so honest_ and _so easy to understand._

“I want to go to Germany, some day. Isn’t that Germany?”

“Probably. It looks like Berlin”.

“Oh.”  

A pause.

“Do you think I can go?”

“Why not. Maybe we are young now but we won’t someday.”

He knows Koutarou doesn’t remember, now. He mostly remembers Kenma from matches and some nights they hung out in Tokyo, Kuroo’s rambles about him, but nothing else.

He doesn’t remember, either, when the plane lands and a language they don’t know greets them. Koutarou appeared a few weeks ago, suddenly, shouting he got the best idea in his whole life and when Kenma saw the tickets to Germany, he wasn’t really surprised. Life is about making connections, at the end.

“I have been studying the city for weeks!!! THE AIRPORT IS HUGE KENMA IM SO HAPPY WE ARE HERE WE HAVE SO MANY THINGS TO SEe-EY DON’T GET LOST what are you doing yea I know it’s crowded hey I know where the hotel is Ke- Kenma?”

Kenma decided right then after almost getting lost for the third consecutive time he would hold Koutarou’s hand

_(and never let go)._

“There are so many museums we can visit and stuff we can see and streets we can walk and new food we can try do you think they will understand us? you know English right I mean way better than me I only know the basics AAA KENMA YOU WILL LOVE THE HOTEL IT HAS TWO VERY BIG NICE BEDS AND WE HAVE A PARK IN FRONT OF OUR WINDOW AND IT’S IN A VERY QUIET ZONE…”

Koutarou doesn’t remember anything from that conversation in that room, running away from a party none of them liked, trying to find solace in the loneliness weighing their shoulders down. However, when he’s in the middle of Alexanderplatz his eyes are shining like never before, as if his mind doesn’t remember but his heart does, and he’s staring, in awe, at the buildings, at the people surrounding them, the world surrounding them and happening in the seconds they’re both standing in the middle of everything and nowhere at the same time, together, immobile in a constant flow of people they will never see again; he’s breathing, quietly, as if afraid the universe will notice them if he raises his voice, turns his head to face Kenma when Kenma tugs quietly at the hands that have been linked since the airport, leans in to listen words that never arrive cause Kenma thought of a better use for their mouths.

It’s quiet.

And frightening. They don’t know the language of the other as much as they don’t know how to make their lips fit or move, yet it’s _wonderful,_ in the same thrilling way being in a city they didn’t know with a language they didn’t understand was.

(Koutarou sunk his surprise, excitement and fear in Kenma’s mouth the second time they kissed, three seconds after the first one, a little bit of tongue and a lot of good intentions.)

 

**VIII.**

“What’s love about?”

“Being selfish.”

…

“Do you think we are?”

Kenma shrugged.

Maybe. It’s been seventeen years since they met again in the train station and he still hasn’t figured much about love and loving. But he _feels_ what he’s saying. Koutarou brought him a flower once and asked him to blow a wish, with summer smile and yellow eyes of hopes.

 _Yellow dandelion,_ Kenma thought.

 

“Will you marry me someday?”

“We can’t get married. And it’s not necessary”.

“But it’s beautiful? I want you to be mine, legally, I mean”.

Then _oh._

Kenma smiled and nodded. It’s about selfishness; that’s the only way he knew how to love. Though Koutarou would never be as selfish as Kenma.

 

He brought him a dandelion, and Kenma

 

 _kept the wish_.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is for Rin! I tried picturing Bokuken in a different way than experimental narrative but it was very hard and i gave up orz i don't think kenma would entirely narrate his life more like he would have a inner blurred monologue introspective-wise...? this is what i am and /oh/ so this is how i got here  
> THANKS PIXIE MY LOVE FOR BEING MY BETA ALWAYS YOU ARE THE BEST  
> / struggles to write in english


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